


800 Days Later

by writteninthestarsforlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha Harry, Alpha Harry Styles, Alpha Liam, Alpha Liam Payne, Alpha Zayn, Alpha Zayn Malik, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Niall, Beta Niall Horan, Bottom Louis, F/M, Famous Harry, Louis is a single father, M/M, Omega Louis, Omega Louis Tomlinson, Slow Burn, Top Harry, Waiter Louis, high school sweethearts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-02 13:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninthestarsforlou/pseuds/writteninthestarsforlou
Summary: Harry and Louis were high school sweethearts. Then, Harry’s music career took off, and so did he, leaving Louis behind in the process... for the most part.They lost touch over the past two years, and that proves to be more important than Harry had ever thought it would be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello, hello!
> 
> I haven’t given up on my other stories (if you haven’t read them, go check them out)!
> 
> It’s summer now, so I’ll be focusing a lot more on writing and updating for all of my stories! Keep an eye out because I’m hoping to post as much as I can as fast as I can (while still having good content, of course).

The cheers of drunken people come in waves, crashing against the walls of the venue. Green eyes sweep across blurred faces that peer up excitedly, the slowing effects of intoxication evident upon all of them.

 

“Give it up one more time for Harry Styles everyone!” the owner of the warehouse shouts into his microphone, the crowd’s cheering intensifying once more. Harry smiles, putting his palms together as he bows. He slips away from the audience, one long step back at a time, waving until he’s fully backstage. Everything becomes muffled and eerily quiet.

 

He takes a shallow breath, and his smile dims as he exhales.

 

Something like an electric current pumps through his veins, and he pulls out a pack of American Spirits from his back pocket as he enters the dressing room. The walls of the building are saturated with the smell of sex and liquor, and Harry’s nose crinkles for a moment, but ultimately, he just sighs and lights a cigarette. His eyes dart to his reflection, everything seeming to freeze in time save for the string of smoke rising from his frowning lips.

 

Harry Styles: the perfect man, the timeless heartthrob. He has been deemed the most successful underground artist in the UK, and it has been predicted that “his career could only go up from here. His sex appeal and back-to-the-classics rock genre have only done him good,” according to the media. He is the perfect cocktail for a successful celebrity.

 

However, Harry believes with a dull air about him, he is a false prophet.

 

Yes, he’s wearing a patterned button-up from some acclaimed designer, but it’s wrinkled and misbuttoned. His eyes are strikingly green-- a signature feature, really-- but only because they’re bloodshot from a lack of sleep, and his tempting pout was-- in truth-- a subconscious display of apathy.

 

Harry is content, though, due to his ignorance. He is not aware of the piece of him that is missing, or maybe he is but is refusing to acknowledge it.

 

Three knocks sound at his door.

 

“Come in.”

 

Through the mirror, Harry nods in greeting to the new arrival: Liam Payne. The drummer is a study in overly-muscular arms and warm tones, Harry’s opposite in almost every way, really. Where Harry is lean and toned, Liam is jacked and broad; where Liam is calm and collected, Harry is jestful and jittery. They work, though. They have since they were in diapers, and neither of them plan to change anything.

 

“Hey, Harry. Great show, right?” he greets, aftershocks of the performance leaving his body with a constant buzz. Harry watches him pull his t-shirt over his head, dabbing the sweat from behind his neck with it before sitting on the nearest couch.

 

Harry hums in response, taking another puff from his cigarette. “Yeah. We smashed it. Still have about fifteen venues or something, though. Another month of all this,” he gestures encompassingly to the air around them, “Then, back on the road in no time.” Harry shuffles over to the sofa Liam was occupying, slumping next to his friend as he sighs, the escaping air making him akin to a deflating balloon. With a distant nonchalance in his voice, Harry speaks into the somewhat hazy air, “I was thinking about it the other day, the touring and the workload, and I realized that… Liam, we haven't sat down and just  _ lived _ for four years now.” Harry feels Liam’s eyes burning holes into his profile. “Do you think that maybe-- I don't know-- like maybe we’re moving too fast?”

 

Liam sighs, scratching the side of his nose with his index finger. “Well, different strokes for different folks, I guess. I kind of love the fast pace of it all. It makes me feel like what we’re doing is actually affecting people who aren't  _ us _ .” He pauses, waiting for Harry to face him before he speaks again. “If you feel overwhelmed, Harry, we can take a break when the tour is over.”

 

“No, no.” He insists, batting his hand dismissively, “I don't know. I think I'm just tired. I don't even know what I'm trying to say, really.” He stubs out the butt of his cigarette in the coffee table ashtray, resting his elbows on his knees. “What I really need is to get laid,” he chuckles, getting a belly laugh out of Liam, the sound wholehearted and sympathetic.

 

“Trust me, there are plenty of omegas out there more than willing to let you jump their bones. You could get laid if you wanted to.”  Liam snorts, standing up and stretching his arms out. He strides over to the cooler by the door, fishing out a beer and chugging it. His next sentence is sudden, catching Harry off guard entirely, “I don't think you  _ just  _ want to get off, H. I think you want to settle down.”

 

“Excuse me?” Harry guffaws, as if the thought didn't secretly make his inner alpha grumble with longing. He covers it up with humor, however, putting a hand to his chest. “I am Harry, God of Sex.”

 

Liam rolls his eyes in response and takes another swig, “It's in our biology, Harry; don't act like it's not. Also, I know you're actually a sap because no true manslut would ever quote Love Actually as casually as you just did.”

 

Harry stands up as well, shrugging as he unbuttons his wrinkled shirt and makes his way toward the clothing rack. “One: You don't have to be a ‘sap’ to enjoy Love Actually. It's a classic. And two: I'm fine with how my love life is going, thank you. I don't need a constant. It wouldn't work out anyways, with our schedule and all.” Harry sighs, pulling a black tank top from its hanger, “I'd be gone all of the time.”

 

Although he doesn't turn, Harry can tell Liam is throwing away his beer can and staring at him.

 

“What about Louis?”

 

Harry’s movements halt for a hot second, his jaw clenching. He finishes pulling the loose shirt over his head before whirring around to glare at his friend. His eyes flash with crimson, anger dripping from every pore, but Liam detects the hurt behind his threatening exterior. It’s obvious that the wounds were still fresh. “What  _ about  _ him?” He growls. Liam looks far from intimidated as he crosses his arms, a single eyebrow raised. “Liam,  _ what _ ?”

 

“Well,” the other alpha starts, wiping his hands on his jeans, “you were high school sweethearts, for one,” he says with a distant, nostalgic smile that Harry desperately wants to slap off of his face. “He was the only person that you even tried with, and you tried  _ hard _ .” Laughter filters between them at the memories.

  
  
  


_ “Harry, I'm going to be honest with you because you're my mate. I think Louis was taking the piss. This just doesn't seem…” _

 

_ “Doesn't seen what Liam? If you insult him, I'll tear your knot off.” _

 

_ “I'm not insulting him, Jesus. This just doesn't seem like something he’d be all over, and even if he was, I don't think he'd tell you.” _

 

_ Harry pulls on his curls some more, forcing himself not to cringe at the nearly white color of them. _

 

_ “Liam, he said he prefers blondes. Or, he implied it, anyways. Luke, the  _ alpha _ that sits next to him in Physics, is blonde. I had brown hair. Something had to be done.” _

 

_ Liam just stares at him with wide eyes through the mirror, shaking his head in disbelief for the umpteenth time. “Harry, you've been dating for, what, nine months now? I think you've ‘got him’… or whatever.” He scratches his eyebrow with his thumb, then claps a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “He was messing with you, mate. It's not too late to go back to-” _

 

_ “-Liam, you don't know him like I do! Trust me. Louis Tomlinson prefers blondes, and goddammit, I'll be a blonde.” _

 

_ The next morning, at school, Louis’ eyes are wider than they've ever been, and he can't help the laughter that bursts out of him. _

 

_ The rest of the day is spent getting ice cream and consoling Harry, Louis cooing in both amusement and sympathy, saying “it looks great, babe. I promise. I will totally be into blondes if you're one.” _

  
  
  


Harry tugs loosely on his curls with a faraway smile, and Liam watches him knowingly. “That, and you respect him. You visit him every time we come here-- well, except last year-- but you still have never slept with him.”

 

“Not true.”

 

“ _ What _ ?”

 

“We did, once. Two years ago...” Harry mumbles, fiddling with the hole in the knee of his jeans as if it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

 

Liam stands there with his mouth hanging open comically wide, and Harry would laugh if he wasn’t busy trying not to drown in his self pity. “Wait. We were still on tour, then.”

 

Harry growls warningly, urging Liam not to continue, to which he obliges, but not without giving Harry a heavy, disappointed sort of stare.

 

“I know, Liam. I know.”

 

Three more knocks sound at the door.

 

“Come in.”

 

A young beta pokes his head into the room, dark eyes searching until they land on Harry. “Sorry, guys, but the buses are heading back to the hotel in about two hours. If you want to go out there for a while, now would be the time.”

 

Liam smiles and nods at the boy before picking up his wallet and cell phone. “Thanks, Cal. We’ll be out there in a second.” The boy grins back and gives a thumbs up, making his leave afterwards. “Come on, H. We need to loosen up. The amount of alpha hormones in the room is staggering.”

  
  
  


And that's how Harry finds himself sitting at the bar with a girl named Georgia talking about absolutely nothing. Truth be told, he is still sober, only having had half of a beer over the course of twenty minutes.

 

_ God knows I’ll need more for this conversation _ , he thinks to himself as he downs the rest of his glass.

 

“So, Harry,” Georgia says, nasally voice pinching Harry’s eardrums, “are there any special someones in your life?” Harry wills himself not to grimace when he feels her hand on his leg. He raps his fingers impatiently on his empty glass but maintains a polite smile, shrugging.

 

“Well, not particularly,” he replies. “None within reach, anyway.” He takes a sip of his beer, letting the girl’s reply blend into the background noise of the venue. His gaze pans around the dark room slowly, not really catching sight of anything out of the ordinary.

 

It was times like this that made Harry question what it meant to be a celebrity. His eyes now pass so many anonymous faces, and at one time, he was one of them. No one would stop their people-watching to look at him before, but now, people screamed and pointed like he was a carnival act, and, in a way, Harry thought that he very well could be.

 

Georgia leaves during Harry’s inner musings, most likely bored of not being the center of attention, not that Harry notices, nor does he care had he have done so. In fact, it isn’t until he hears a familiar voice ordering “the strongest scotch you’ve got, mate!” that he even realizes that the seat was empty in the first place. When Harry’s eyes zone back into reality, they’re met with familiar baby blues looking back. Harry suddenly wishes he was more drunk.

 

Because there, somehow glowing in a dimly lit room, is Louis Tomlinson, looking the same as he has always been but subtly different somehow--  _ more hardened, maybe _ \--Harry thinks. Still slim and curved in all the right places, he truly is a vision. His hair is a tad longer than two years ago, but not by much, and his body is still kissed with sunlight, but it isn’t bursting with its rays like it used to; his skin is closer to a reflection of the sun, dimmer and less vibrant. He looks tired but still beautiful as ever. He’s wearing his usual black skinny jeans and a grey sweatshirt that is clearly too large for his lithe frame, the sleeves bunched and rolled up, hanging from his forearms.

 

It takes Harry a minute to register that the navy blue print on the front reads “WHS Marching Band” and that that sweatshirt is  _ his  _ from  _ high school _ and that Louis is  _ wearing it _ and that Louis is now smiling and  _ walking over to him oh fuck, fuck fuck- _

 

“Fuck, Harry. Drink something so you can at least say hello to me without looking like a serial killer.” Louis dissolves into giggles after his statement, the sound ringing like a bell. He turns briefly to accept the scotch glass from the bartender before going to take a seat next to Harry, who is already wrapping up the smaller boy in his arms like a precious keepsake, gentle, yet unrelenting.

 

Harry lets his eyes slip shut as he nestles his nose behind Louis’ ear, inhaling the familiar scent of warm sugar and something unidentifiable that just feels like home. He growls lowly in his chest, rumbling like the distant thunder of an approaching storm, and Louis sighs with a chuckle as his own arms wind around Harry’s middle.

 

“Hey, Lou,” Harry murmurs into the boy's hair, barely audible over the hectic atmosphere around them. Had Harry not been practically melded into Louis, the latter doubts he would have caught the words at all.

 

“That's better,” Louis replies to the greeting. His back arches as he leans back to meet Harry’s eyes, a small smile adorning his delicate features, “still have that serial killer stare, though, I'm afraid.”

 

Harry tracks every movement on Louis’ face, weak in every sense of the word when it comes to the boy in his arms. Liam was rarely wrong when it came to the feelings that Harry tried to deny in himself. He isn’t sure what to say, only hoping that it isn’t anything too offputting.

 

“That’s my sweatshirt.”

 

For the love of Christ.

 

Louis takes the comment with a grain of salt, though, laughing and stepping out of the embrace. “That it is,” is all he says. Harry just nods, and a glass is set on the bar between them. Louis smiles at the bartender and takes the second glass of scotch and taking a sip before turning back to his companion. “I’m surprised you aren’t drinking yourself after a show like that.”

 

“I’ve had a few. I just don’t want to get too drunk before I get back to the hotel.”

 

“Why not?” Louis looks genuinely curious, his eyes zoned in and his whole body facing Harry. He doesn’t even break eye contact as he takes another swig.

 

Harry shrugs, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “Being drunk and alone in a dark room isn’t exactly my idea of a good time. I think too much when I’m drunk.”

 

Louis nods like he knows because of course he already knows that. They’ve known each other for nearly a decade now, known each other more intimately than most people can. Harry feels like an idiot suddenly, Liam’s words echoing off the walls.

 

_ He was the only one that you ever tried with _ .

 

Lost in his own thoughts, Harry misses the way Louis’ eyes soften and his smile dims. “I get that,” he says, and Harry’s heart punches his stomach with a force that makes him physically ill. “You know, if you aren’t drinking anymore, and if you still have some time left, we could get out of here.” Louis fiddles with the rolled up sleeves of the sweatshirt, a nervous tick that Harry knows very well. “We could go for a walk, catch up a bit.”

 

Harry’s nodding before he’s thinking that this maybe isn’t such a good idea. He’s following Louis out the door before he’s realizing the possibilities of what could happen right now. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but with Louis holding his hand, he doesn’t really care.

 

They make their way out into the city streets, the crowds dying down and the world itself quieting around them. This is Harry’s favorite time of night: when the world is drunk and tired enough to not care who he is, when he can walk around like he isn’t something to be noticed.

 

Louis is talking to him like he isn’t famous, like he’s a friend rather than a bargaining chip, and it feels good. He doesn’t feel good too often.

 

“It’s quiet out here, huh?” Louis says mostly to himself, but Harry hums in response anyways, just to let him know that he’s being heard. “I don’t get out much anymore, besides work, so this is kind of like a reward, I guess,” he laughs tiredly as he trails off. “People are in such a hurry nowadays, you know? Myself included. We don’t get to appreciate things like this too often.” He stops in front of a children’s clothing store, and Harry follows his eyes to a small denim jacket hanging on an equally small mannequin.

 

“Yeah, I think that’d fit you,” Harry says with a smirk, earning a gasp and a shove from Louis.

 

“Shut up! Oh my god, you really haven’t changed, have you?” He replies, nostalgia laced in with his amusement.

 

“I have,” Harry replies immediately, darkly. “I’m sorry that I have.”

 

The mood shifts at that, Louis looking back at Harry from the store with a heavy stare. “You don’t have to apologize, Harry. We’re growing up. Even if you’re a big rock star now, you’re still you. Just remember where you came from, that’s all.”

 

Harry sighs, shaking his head. “Yeah, sorry, I don’t really know what I’m saying. I’m a little drunk.”

 

Louis chuckles, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “You’re good. No worries.”

 

They continue walking, the tension being left behind bit by bit with every step they take through the city. They talk about high school, about Louis’ job at the diner they used to go to all the time, about Liam and Zayn and all of their other friends that they still share. It’s nice, really, to talk about things that are a part of him but not part of his job. It’s always like that with Louis, it seems. There’s something comforting in everything he says, in Harry’s eyes, though he might be biased.

 

They’re laughing about the time Liam was in a school production of Les Miserables when Louis’ phone rings.

 

The name on the screen reads “Mum,” and Harry suddenly has a thousand flashbacks in a matter of three seconds. Johannah. Fuck, that’s a name Harry hasn’t heard in a long time. “Shit, one sec. Sorry, Haz,” Louis says before answering, taking a few steps away. Harry listens, of course.

 

“What? How did that happen? … Can you put him on the phone? Thanks … hello? Hey, baby, what’s wrong?”

 

_ Baby _ ?

 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, baby, I’ll come home. I’m sorry. I’ll be home in a little bit, okay? Okay. I love you, too. Bye bye.” With that, he hangs up.

 

Harry’s blood has drained down to his feet and out onto the pavement, leaving him cold. Louis walks back to him, putting his phone in his pocket with an apologetic look. “Hey, I’m so sorry, but I have to go home. My- uh- something came up. How long are you in town for?”

 

“I leave tomorrow night,” he says, the words falling out of his mouth like molasses. “Who was that?” he asks with a bit more aggression than he had intended. Louis grabs the sleeve of the sweatshirt, adjusting it even though he doesn’t have to.

 

There’s a pause where Louis just  _ looks _ at him, and there never used to be moments like this where Harry can’t tell exactly what Louis is thinking, where he’s hiding something. Harry feels like crying.

 

Louis sighs, taking Harry’s hand and looking at it, staring down at it for a moment. “Do you have time to walk me home? I’m just down the street, basically.” Harry’s heart feels like it’s about to claw its way out of his chest and pull Louis back in with it. “I’ll show you.”

 

Harry clears his throat, and they’re already walking again when he speaks. “Is it something that I want to know about, Lou?”

 

Louis doesn’t reply at first, but when he does it’s with a sniffle and a deep breath. “It’s something you need to know about.”

 

No words are exchanged for the next ten minutes as they walk. When they arrive, Harry blinks at what he assumes to be Louis’ house. It’s a nice place, a two story house that’s a bit run down but… nice. There are lights on, and Harry can see that the TV is on in the living room, but no one is inside. Louis stops them at the bottom of the porch steps and lets go of Harry’s hand. He’s visibly shaking, looking at the house when he speaks. “Do you remember when you came here two years ago?”

 

Harry nods, but Louis can’t see it, so he weakly replies, “I don’t think I could forget if I tried.”

 

Louis sniffles again, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He shakes his head and wipes away the oncoming threat of tears. His voice breaks, “why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you come back the next year? You always come back, so what stopped you?”

 

Harry steps right into Louis’ line of vision, gripping his shoulders gently. Louis tries to avoid eye contact, but Harry follows his face, forcing it. “I was terrified that things would be different. Louis, I love you. You know that. I always have. I didn’t want to hurt you or myself by making us believe that I could just… it was hectic at the time. I didn’t want us to start again and then have you hate me for abandoning you. I was selfish, and I was scared. I couldn’t face that commitment because I was immature.” Louis’ eyes widen with every word, and the world seems to stand still. The wind and the sounds of the world are the only things around them for a few seconds.

 

Louis pushes Harry away, wiping his eyes and laughing bitterly. “I’m so stupid,” he chokes. “You have no idea, Harry, and it’s my fault.”

 

Harry was a little more than confused now. “What are you talking about?” He slowly stands up straight again, his heart pounding like a drum against his ribs. Louis looks like he’s about to break down, gripping his own arms like he’s  trying to physically hold himself together. “Louis, answer me. What the hell are you talking about?”

 

The front door opens up behind them then, and Harry turns around to see Johannah in the entryway, pooled in the yellow light of the house. She’s aged now, grey hairs coming in and her body just a tad more frail than Harry remembers. She’s staring at Harry with wide eyes, and her arms shuffle, and that’s when Harry sees it.

 

There’s a small child in her left arm, and it looks a little bit like him at that age.

 

It all clicks into place.

 

“Harry? Is that you? Oh my god, Harry! Come here!” She waves her free hand in an eager gesture, mindful of the  _ child _ in her arms. Harry doesn’t try to smile, couldn’t if he tried, but he makes his way up the stairs with Louis and brings her into a one-armed hug.

 

“Hi, Jo.”

 

“It’s been a long time,” she says, her tone motherly yet guarded. The child is squirming in her arm, and Johannah breaks their hug to adjust him. 

 

Harry’s eyes dart over to the young boy. He’s got blue eyes and dark, curly hair. He looks like he can’t be any older than two years old, and it’s making Harry’s head spin.

 

The child is staring right back at Harry with a sense of wonder and curiosity, his arm reaching out towards him. Harry doesn’t move.

 

The boy becomes distressed, whining as he can’t reach Harry, and huffs, turning to Louis. “Ma?” he calls, and his voice is so light. Harry’s breathing quickens, and his head is starting to hurt.

 

Johannah lets the boy down, and he stumbles over to Louis who picks him up again. “Hi, baby,” he almost whispers, brushing a hand through the kid’s hair. “Where did you hurt yourself?” The kid kicks out a leg, and there’s a band-aid on his knee. Louis whistles lowly, and there’s a light in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago when he looks back at the child. “Wow, that looks serious. We may have to get rid of that leg!”

 

“No, Ma!” the boy cries, mortified by the thought. Louis puts him down with a skeptical look.

 

“Well, can you walk on it?”

 

“Yeah! Look, see?” The boy proceeds to jump and walk around to prove to Louis that his leg is fully capable of the task. Louis laughs lightly and puts a hand on the boy’s head.

 

“Alright. Fine, fine. I guess we’ll be okay this time. Just be careful next time, okay?”

 

“Yes, ma,” he says, preening under Louis’ attention. His eyes go back to Harry, who stiffens. The boy tugs on Louis’ pant leg and gives Harry a scowl. “Stop looking at  my ma.”

 

This kid is definitely an Alpha.

 

Johannah giggles to herself with a hum. “It’s okay, darling. He’s a friend!” The kid doesn’t look convinced.

 

Louis detaches the child from his leg, giving Harry an indiscernible expression. “Danny, you’re fine.”

 

_ Danny _ .

 

Danny seems content with his mother’s approval. Immediately, his stern expression melts into a smile that looks eerily similar to his own, and he walks over clumsily to Harry. “Up?” he requests.

 

Harry looks up at Louis and Johannah, and Johannah laughs at his obviously baffled expression. Louis’ eyes look like they’re somewhere between sad and longing, but he nods with a small smile.

 

Harry hesitantly picks up Danny, who slaps his hands down on Harry’s curls. “Curly,” he states, as if it was valuable information that Harry was unaware of.

 

“My hair is curly?” Harry replies, feigning surprise. He nods his head toward Danny’s own curls. “Look at that! Your hair is curly, too!”

 

Danny gasps and puts his hands to his mouth, whipping around in Harry’s arms to look at Louis. “He has my hair, ma!”

 

Louis’ eyes are watering, and he sobs around a laugh. “Yeah, baby, you’re right.”

 

Danny turns back to Harry with a grin, and Harry can see the similarities in both Louis and himself clearly now. It’s blinding. “I’m Harry,” he says.

 

“‘M Danny!” he replies, giving Harry a hug around his neck. Harry hesitantly puts a hand on Danny’s back in reciprocation. His own eyes are starting to water, and he looks between Louis and Johannah with an open expression that says everything.

 

_ Why didn’t you tell me? I have a son. Holy shit. What do we do? How did this happen? _

 

_ I love him. _

 

Louis wipes away a tear, leaning against one of the porch walls. He shrugs with an overwhelmed smile. Johannah looks relieved, more than anything, which makes Harry uncomfortable.

 

_ What the hell am I going to do? _

 

The possessiveness in Harry’s alpha growls in his gut, and it’s so upset. This is everything that an alpha wants. This is everything Harry has always wanted and tried to push down, but what now? It’s all real, and it’s then that Harry realizes that he has missed so much.

 

Danny is squirming to be put down, and Harry lets him onto the ground. “Danny,” Johannah says, “let’s go inside and get you to bed. It’s way past your bedtime.”

 

“No!” Danny protests, grabbing Harry’s pant leg this time. “wanna stay with ‘arry.”

 

“Go to bed, Danny. You can see Harry another time,” Louis calmly orders, and Danny pouts, giving both Harry and Louis final good nights before heading inside with Johannah.

 

Then it becomes cold and silent.

 

Harry is burning holes into Louis’ side profile as the latter stares at the door. When he faces Harry, he isn’t crying anymore. He looks angry.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me, Lou?” Harry starts.

 

“You were on tour. There was no point. You didn’t come back the next year, either, and I figured that- I don’t know- you wouldn’t stay, even if you wanted to.”

 

“Louis, if I had known that you were carrying  _ our kid,  _ I would have dropped everything!”

 

“But that’s just it, Haz. The only thing that would have brought you back to be with me, to stay with me, is a kid.”

 

Hardy slams his hand against the banister of the porch, making Louis flinch. “That isn’t true! You know that’s not true!”

 

“Do I?” Louis retorts, rising up from the wall of the porch to get in Harry’s space, fire burning behind the blue in his eyes. “Every time you come back, you leave. You come back for a day, maybe two, and then you don’t talk to me for another year. If there was anything else besides a baby that would have made you stay, it would have come along by now. It’s been six years of this. What could you possibly say to that, Harry?”

 

Harry blanches. The more he looks at it, the more he hates himself. He can’t fully blame himself, though. It wasn’t all him.

 

“It wasn’t all me, Lou. You didn’t call, either. I come for a day because that’s all the time I have. If I could have come back anytime in those six years and spent my life with you, I would have in a heartbeat. I couldn’t take care of you the way you deserved until now.”

 

Louis looks into his eyes for a long while before sighing in defeat.

 

_ You’re so beautiful. _

 

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

 

_ I love you. _

 

“It just hurts to not know what you’re thinking.”

 

_ I love you so much. _

 

“We used to be so close. I want to be that close to you, but-”

 

_ We can be. Just tell me you want me to stay. _

 

“We can’t be, not when you’re always leaving me.” 

 

_ I’d do anything for you. Just  _ say  _ it _ .

 

“I never said it, but I’ve always wanted you to stay. I just didn’t want to be the reason to crush your dreams.”

 

_ I’ll stay. _

 

“I’ll stay.” Harry says it, and it sounds like the only right thing he’s said in years.

 

Louis stops his rambling, his eyes meeting Harry’s in utter shock. He shakes his head violently, pushing Harry away, but it’s weak, and his hands remain clutched in Harry’s shirt.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” he chokes. “It doesn’t matter what I want. You have a tour, and I already have a life here without you.”

 

“I’ll cancel the rest of the tour.”

 

“Harry-”

 

“I want to be here for him, and I want to be here for you,” he cuts Louis off. “I’ve already missed so much. My alpha is killing itself, Louis! I need to be here. I’ve always wanted to stay, and you’ve always wanted me to stay. I’ll be fine.” He pulls Louis into his arms. He doesn’t protest. “Let me stay with you. Let me make this right.”

 

They both start crying, Louis’ omega practically falling on itself with the comfort of an Alpha,  _ his  _ Alpha. He freezes.

 

“We aren’t even bonded, Harry.”

 

Harry growls deep in his chest, making Louis’ omega tremble and pull him close again. Harry holds Louis with unrelenting force. “We’ll change that,” he states simply, earnestly.

 

It doesn’t matter now, whatever happens outside of this. He wanted the break anyways. The fast pace of everything is eating him alive, and now, it’s time to slow down. Liam’s words echo in his mind again:

 

_ I think you want to settle down. _

 

He does. Harry thinks it’s well overdue.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tells Liam about what happened, and it’s amazing what empathy can do for a person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but a necessary one. I hope you enjoy it . xx
> 
> Also, Love and War has been updated, so go check it out !
> 
> COMMENTS AND KUDOS

Harry lets his head fall against the downy pillows, a whoosh of air escaping his lungs when his body hits the mattress. His eyes are trained on the ceiling, tracing the patterns of the drywall, and he frowns at them as though they could give him answers, even though Liam is also in the hotel room.

 

“So, you’re a father, then,” Liam supplies as if Harry doesn’t already know. Normally, the tone would irk him, but his head is swimming and he couldn’t care less about the way Liam is talking, only caring that he’s there at all.

 

“I’m a father,” Harry echoes, his voice breathy and overwhelmed. “I have a  _ son _ .”

 

“You do.” Harry doesn’t have to look to know that Liam is coming over to the bed, but he does anyways just to gauge how his friend is taking the news. He’s surprised to see the other alpha fighting a smile as he plops down next to Harry, laying on his side to face his bandmate. He props his head on his hand to get Harry’s attention, and he succeeds, Harry turning his head in as well. “What do you want to do?” Liam asks.

 

“I don’t know what to do, honestly. Logically, I think I should maybe—”

 

“No,” Liam interrupts sternly. “I didn’t ask what you  _ think _ you  _ should _ do. I asked what you  _ want  _ to do.”

 

“I want to stay with him,” Harry replies without missing a beat, as if the answer was obvious. “I told him I would. My alpha spoke for me, though, and I’m not sure how I can fix all of this, how to make it right or make up for lost time.” He trails off, voice soft and unsure. “I don’t even know where to start. I just know that I have to be better for him, for  _ them _ .”

 

“Well, to be honest, I don’t think you can make up the time you lost,” Liam says gently, pinching the comforter absentmindedly as he talks. His eyes wander somewhere distant above Harry’s head. “The fact of it is that there are parts of the kid’s life that you’ve missed, and of Louis’, too. You can’t change the past, and you sure as hell can’t go back to it.” Harry feels his chest twist into a knot, the guilt of his alpha gnawing on his bones. Just when he feels like he’s about to cry, Liam continues. “But,” he says, dragging out the word, “that doesn’t mean you can’t make the best of the time you have now. Just— I don’t know anything about being a parent, but maybe it isn’t about catching up. I don’t know how to word what I’m trying to say, really, but… stop thinking so much about what you haven’t done, and maybe you can be present for the things you can do now, you know?”

 

Harry hums lowly. “Yeah, I think so,” he says, but he doesn’t, not at first.

 

It isn’t until one shitty rom-com and a cold shower later, when Harry is alone in his room once again, that it all starts to make sense.

 

He’s brushing his teeth, and he can’t help but think about his conversation with Liam. The words kept repeating and skipping over themselves like a broken record in his head.

 

_ I have to get better for them. _

 

_ Stop thinking so much about what you haven’t done. _

 

_ Be present for the things you can do now. _

 

The problem, Harry mourns, is that he can’t  _ not _ think about the past, not when that past caused him to hurt Louis so deeply. His alpha is howling in despair, clawing its way through his heart find relief, and it seems like all Harry can do is suffer through the ache in his chest. He feels like he needs to make it up to him, to redo everything that he has missed until now, but he can’t.

 

_ Maybe it isn’t about catching up. _

 

Harry spits into the sink and blankly watches the water go down the drain. He sighs, switching off the tap and shuffling back to the stark emptiness of the bed.

 

He just wishes Louis would knock on his door and tell him that everything is going to be fine. (He knows that Louis probably wanted him to knock on his door, too, more than once.) He wishes that Louis was lying next to him, whispering all of the sweet nothings they could have shared or maybe all of the things that he had gone through when Harry was away and oblivious to the life he’d left behind.

 

Harry wishes that he could understand what Louis had gone through. All he knows are the small implications in Louis’ words, the agony in his voice when he said them, and the overwhelming desperation he felt from the boy’s inner omega, crying out for its other half. He only knows pieces of a puzzle much larger than he has the means to finish.

 

He doubts he ever will, not fully, anyways. Louis always had a habit of showing his emotions but never speaking his mind, and it frustrated the alpha now more than ever.

 

Harry rolls around in the hotel bed, the cold sheets not as relaxing as they normally are. The room is dark, all of the lights off in favor of the skyline’s distant glow looking in through the windows, and Harry has never felt more alone.

 

It’s then that Harry thinks— in this dark room, cold, quiet, and lonely, longing for the one person to make it all better— this is a glimpse of what Louis must have felt like for two years now.

 

It tears him apart.

 

He spreads his arms out from one end of the bed to the other for no reason other than restlessness, and his left hand lands on something smooth and solid. He turns his head— though the action is pointless in a pitch black room— and picks up the small object.

 

His journal.

 

Harry sits up in his bed and flicks on one of the side table lamps, squinting to adjust to the faint amber glow of the room. He flips through the worn pages until he finds the next clean one and scrambles for the pen at the foot of his bed.

 

Then, he stares at the page for a long time.

 

It feels like hours, though it could have only been a minute or two. He just sits in the suffocating silence of his hotel room and thinks. Flashing images of Louis’ crying eyes, his newfound child, the possibilities of what Louis had gone through for so long, and the more he thinks about them, the more the words seem to just appear on the page.

 

He wasn’t there. He could never fully understand what Louis went through, but he has a glimpse, and sometimes, a glimpse is all it takes. If Harry could ever begin to comprehend any of it, it would be through music.

 

That night, Harry doesn’t sleep. He just writes, and he listens as Louis’ unspoken lament croons through the pages.

 

__________

  
  


The sun comes up at around seven in the morning, and Harry is drowning in his umpteenth cup of cheap hotel coffee when he finally decides to put down his guitar.

 

His room is a disaster, simply put. In the hours he spent perfecting the haunting and vulnerable tunes he had written, the floor had become hazardous to walk on. Wrappers, empty water bottles, and crumpled up pages littered the carpet, the bedsheets were a balled up mess, and the pillows had been tossed in various locations from when the singer felt like relocating for a bit.

 

It had been a long night.

 

Harry’s hands are shaking when he sets down his guitar against the couch, but he drains the rest of his coffee mug anyways. He groans when he looks down at his phone.

 

**7:14AM**

 

“Well, fuck me,” he grumbles and picks up the phone, unlocking it thoughtlessly. His heart flutters a bit when he opens the Twitter app and types out a message. The excitement reaches its peak when he posts it without a second thought:

 

**The tour is almost over . Thank you for coming to see us . I’m already off to write more music, and I can’t wait to see you all again soon . All the love . H**

 

Not five minutes later, there’s a knock at his door.

 

“Harry,” Liam’s voice is muted, but it’s still obviously heavy with sleep. “I saw your tweet. Is this ‘new music’ the reason you kept me up all night? This better be good, or so help me, God.” Harry grinned, detecting the excitement behind Liam’s words, and swung open his door. Liam looked as sleep-deprived as Harry, hair mussed and eyelids drooping. He was frowning, but upon seeing Harry’s unexpected smile, his lips turned up as well. “I guess it really is that good, huh?”

 

“This is next level, mate,” Harry breathes and pulls Liam into the messy room. Liam scrunches his nose, kicking around loose items on the floor as he walks but doesn’t comment. “I know, I know. Just ignore it, and come here.” Liam obeys and takes a seat on the couch, scanning the open notebook and crumpled pages that had been torn out on the coffee table. “It isn’t… it isn’t like what we normally play, but... I think this is it, Li. It’s personal, it’s open, and if you guys help me, we can make something absolutely incredible.”

 

Liam takes a second to process all of Harry’s words with the tiredness threatening to take over, but he nods nonetheless and waves a vague hand towards Harry’s guitar. “Alright. We still have two hours before we hit the road. Show me what you’ve got.” The pair exchange exhausted but giddy smiles as Harry grabs his instrument and sets it on his leg.

 

“So this is the basic melody, right?” Harry supplies, repeating the series of notes a few times until Liam gets it. He shoves the open notebook between them on the table, explaining a few technicalities that Liam— being the talented bandmate and friend that he is— shares his input and understanding immediately on, and the two work on it together after that, perfecting the sound and atmosphere Harry tries to convey. “We can harmonize here and—uh— I pictured it here, but we have to try it.”

 

“Okay, okay. I’m with you. Let’s rest for like six bars and then you come in with it.”

 

“Okay, yeah! Ready?” Liam nods, and Harry pauses to take a deep, calming breath. “Two, three, four…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a bit shorter, but they will get longer again, don’t worry !
> 
> Can you guess which song Harry might be writing ?
> 
> What do you think of the story so far ?
> 
> COMMENTS AND KUDOS

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think! Leave comments and kudos!
> 
> ALSO, for those who read my other stories: Love and War will be updated later today, hopefully! Just wanted to get this out there!


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